together, and she died.”
“And Wesley…”
“He had nothing to do with Naomi’s death,” she said with a hint of anger in her voice. “But he was blamed, because he was supposed to be watching. He took his eye off her for a moment, yeah, and she dashed onto the pond. Dr. Dawe blamed his son because he couldn’t blame God, could he?”
“Do you know how I could get in touch with Wesley?”
She lit another bent cigarette, shook her head. “He left the family long ago. The doctor won’t allow his name to be spoken in the house.”
“Was Karen in touch with him?”
Another shake of the head. “He’d been gone, oh, ten years, I believe. I don’t think anyone knew what became of him.” She took a small hit off her cigarette. “So what are you going to do next?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Hey, Siobhan, the Dawes said Karen saw a psychiatrist. You know the shrink’s name?”
She started to shake her head.
“Come on,” I said. “You must have heard it over the years.”
Her mouth parted slightly, but then she shook her head again. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t recall it.”
I stood from the bench. “Okay. I’ll find out somehow.”
Siobhan looked into my eyes for a long time, the smoke from her cigarette rising up between us. She was so sober, so stripped of levity, I wondered if the laughs she’d had in her life were separated by months or years.
“What are you after here, then, Mr. Kenzie?”
“A reason why she died,” I said.
“She died because she came from a fucking horror show of a family. She died because David was hurt. She died because she couldn’t handle it.”
I gave her a small, helpless smile. “That’s what I keep hearing.”
“So why, if I might ask, isn’t that good enough for you?”
“It might have to be, eventually.” I shrugged. “I’m just playing out the hand, Siobhan. I’m just trying to find that one concrete thing that makes me say, ‘Okay. I understand now. Maybe I’d do the same thing given those circumstances.’”
“Ah,” she said, “you’re such a Catholic. Always looking for reasons.”
I chuckled. “Lapsed, Siobhan. Permanently lapsed.”
She rolled her eyes at that, leaned back, and smoked for a bit without saying a word.
The sun drifted behind some greasy white clouds, and Siobhan said, “You’re looking for a reason, yeah? Start with the man who raped her.”
“Excuse me?”
“She was raped, Mr. Kenzie. Six weeks before she died.”
“She told you this?”
Siobhan nodded.
“She give you a name?”
She shook her head. “She said only that she’d been promised he wouldn’t bother her, and then he did.”
“Cody fucking Falk,” I whispered.
“Who’s that?”
“A ghost,” I said. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”
10
Cody Falk rose at six-thirty the next morning and stood on his back porch with a bath towel around his waist and sipped his morning coffee. Once again, he seemed to be posing for envisioned admirers, his strong chin tilted up slightly, coffee cup held sturdily aloft, his eyes slightly dewy through my binoculars. He looked out at his backyard as if surveying his fiefdom. In his head, I was pretty sure, a voice-over for a Calvin Klein commercial played.
He raised a fist to stifle a yawn, as if the commercial had begun to bore him, and then he sauntered back inside, closed the sliding glass doors behind him, and threw the lock.
I left my spot and drove around the block. I parked two houses down from Cody’s and walked up to his front door. Three hours ago, I’d found his backup keys tucked away in a magnetic Hide-a-Key caddy attached to the underside of his drainpipe, and I used them to let myself in.
The house smelled of those potpourri leaves people buy at Crate & Barrel, and it looked like Cody had ordered the rest of the house from the same catalogue. It was rustic, Santa Fe mission chic right down the line. A cherry-wood dining set sat just off to my left. The seat-cushion
“And Wesley…”
“He had nothing to do with Naomi’s death,” she said with a hint of anger in her voice. “But he was blamed, because he was supposed to be watching. He took his eye off her for a moment, yeah, and she dashed onto the pond. Dr. Dawe blamed his son because he couldn’t blame God, could he?”
“Do you know how I could get in touch with Wesley?”
She lit another bent cigarette, shook her head. “He left the family long ago. The doctor won’t allow his name to be spoken in the house.”
“Was Karen in touch with him?”
Another shake of the head. “He’d been gone, oh, ten years, I believe. I don’t think anyone knew what became of him.” She took a small hit off her cigarette. “So what are you going to do next?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Hey, Siobhan, the Dawes said Karen saw a psychiatrist. You know the shrink’s name?”
She started to shake her head.
“Come on,” I said. “You must have heard it over the years.”
Her mouth parted slightly, but then she shook her head again. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t recall it.”
I stood from the bench. “Okay. I’ll find out somehow.”
Siobhan looked into my eyes for a long time, the smoke from her cigarette rising up between us. She was so sober, so stripped of levity, I wondered if the laughs she’d had in her life were separated by months or years.
“What are you after here, then, Mr. Kenzie?”
“A reason why she died,” I said.
“She died because she came from a fucking horror show of a family. She died because David was hurt. She died because she couldn’t handle it.”
I gave her a small, helpless smile. “That’s what I keep hearing.”
“So why, if I might ask, isn’t that good enough for you?”
“It might have to be, eventually.” I shrugged. “I’m just playing out the hand, Siobhan. I’m just trying to find that one concrete thing that makes me say, ‘Okay. I understand now. Maybe I’d do the same thing given those circumstances.’”
“Ah,” she said, “you’re such a Catholic. Always looking for reasons.”
I chuckled. “Lapsed, Siobhan. Permanently lapsed.”
She rolled her eyes at that, leaned back, and smoked for a bit without saying a word.
The sun drifted behind some greasy white clouds, and Siobhan said, “You’re looking for a reason, yeah? Start with the man who raped her.”
“Excuse me?”
“She was raped, Mr. Kenzie. Six weeks before she died.”
“She told you this?”
Siobhan nodded.
“She give you a name?”
She shook her head. “She said only that she’d been promised he wouldn’t bother her, and then he did.”
“Cody fucking Falk,” I whispered.
“Who’s that?”
“A ghost,” I said. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”
10
Cody Falk rose at six-thirty the next morning and stood on his back porch with a bath towel around his waist and sipped his morning coffee. Once again, he seemed to be posing for envisioned admirers, his strong chin tilted up slightly, coffee cup held sturdily aloft, his eyes slightly dewy through my binoculars. He looked out at his backyard as if surveying his fiefdom. In his head, I was pretty sure, a voice-over for a Calvin Klein commercial played.
He raised a fist to stifle a yawn, as if the commercial had begun to bore him, and then he sauntered back inside, closed the sliding glass doors behind him, and threw the lock.
I left my spot and drove around the block. I parked two houses down from Cody’s and walked up to his front door. Three hours ago, I’d found his backup keys tucked away in a magnetic Hide-a-Key caddy attached to the underside of his drainpipe, and I used them to let myself in.
The house smelled of those potpourri leaves people buy at Crate & Barrel, and it looked like Cody had ordered the rest of the house from the same catalogue. It was rustic, Santa Fe mission chic right down the line. A cherry-wood dining set sat just off to my left. The seat-cushion
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